


The Other Side of the World

by der_tanzer



Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-27
Updated: 2010-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:59:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After <i>Mimi</i> is shot down, Murray goes for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Side of the World

**Author's Note:**

> Almost a year ago, I wrote a Nick/Cody h/c story by request called [In This World](http://archiveofourown.org/works/88622). It fell in the Catbread ‘verse technically (there was a very brief mention of M/Q) but it was the most exclusively N/C fic I’ve ever done, almost as if it were written by someone else. This is the flip side of that fic, showing what Murray was up to all that time.  
> 

“Hold onto something!” Cody shouted. “We’re going down!” He threw his rifle aside and wrapped his arms around Murray’s slight frame, hugging him hard. Murray held onto him, staring out the cargo door at the ground spinning up to meet them. This was going to be the fastest, and hardest, landing of his career. It might also be the fieriest if Nick couldn’t level _Mimi_ out and set them down in some kind of order. Murray turned his face to Cody’s neck, Cody grabbed a metal seat frame with one hand, and then a lot of things happened all at once.

 _Mimi_ hit the ground with a sickening, grinding crunch that covered the sound of Cody’s arm snapping, though not the sound of his scream. Murray felt the tremendous jolt reverberate through his body and barely registered the sudden stabbing pain in his left leg. When the dust had settled and the echoes of destruction died down, he tried to take stock. Cody was still holding him with one arm, his face bloody and stunned.

Murray sat up, disentangling himself carefully, more than a little afraid of finding out how much would hurt when he moved. But it was okay. He saw a piece of metal, an L bracket he was going to use to mount the new cockpit radio, buried in his calf, but it didn’t really hurt. Why should it? Each side of the L was less than three inches long and he could see most of the angle where they joined. It wasn’t like the entire thing was imbedded in the scrawny muscle, just—well, the two branches of the L. Funny how that could happen, he thought. What were the odds? But it was okay. He was sure he had more important things to worry about.

“Cody? Cody, can you hear me?”

“Murray? Thank God you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. Are you okay? Can you move?”

“Yeah, I— _shit_ ,” he cried, discovering as he tried to rise that all was not well. “Oh shit, my arm.” He cradled it to his chest and looked at Murray with wide, frightened eyes.

“Is it broken?” Murray took it gently in his hands and examined the forearm carefully.

“I don’t know. _Fuck_. Yeah, I guess so.”

“It’s not too bad, though. The bones aren’t displaced. What about Nick?” He released Cody’s arm and rose up on his knees, wincing slightly at the twinge in his calf. “Nick?” he called, his voice cracking with adrenaline. “Nick, are you okay?”

“We need to get up there,” Cody said, not waiting for an answer. He staggered to his feet and helped Murray up with his good hand. Murray’s injured calf twinged again but he barely felt it. He followed Cody to the cockpit ladder and watched him strive in vain to rouse his unconscious lover. When Cody’s best efforts failed, they eased Nick down together, laying him on the deck of the wrecked _Mimi_ and covering him with a blanket from the emergency cache.

“What do we do now?” Murray asked, sitting back on his right heel, his left foot braced in front of him so the imbedded steel wouldn’t bump against anything.

“I—I don’t know,” Cody said, his voice small and lost as he stared down at Nick’s still face.

“We have to do something,” he said patiently. “I can’t radio out because of the terrain. There isn’t a booster out here that I can reach. One of us has to go—somewhere. Nobody’s going to come and find us.”

“I can’t leave him,” Cody said dully, not raising his eyes.

“No, of course not. And your arm’s broken, anyway. Just tell me, did you see anything before we landed? Were there buildings or roads? Do you know where we are?” All Murray had seen were hills and trees enough to block the radio transmission.

“There’s a road just down the hill. I think there’s a town to the east but I don’t know how far.”

Murray was as scared by Cody’s robotic voice as he was by Nick’s unnatural stillness, and another rush of adrenaline hit his system like a shot of amphetamine.

“If there’s a road and a town, there’ll be traffic. I’ll go and someone will be sure to pick me up,” he babbled, sliding carefully toward the door. “I’ll get a ride and be back in no time, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you do that, buddy.”

Murray felt his wound more keenly when his feet hit the ground, but as soon as he was moving, he forgot all about it. The hillside wasn’t steep, and when he picked up a branch to use as a walking stick, he started making good time. The road wasn’t far, just as Cody had said, and he headed east, staying on the pavement and leaning on his stick. He didn’t feel the metal in his calf or the blood pooling in his shoe. Even the headache that signaled a concussion was a very dull notion, and the brutal sun didn’t register at all. All he was aware of was a sort of lightheadedness, and a blister growing on his hand where the branch rubbed it.

“There’s a gas station every three blocks at home,” he muttered as he walked along the paved shoulder. “There are six at every single freeway off-ramp, and seven at every on-ramp. Can’t throw a fried circuit board without hitting a damn gas station, but the one day we crash our helicopter, is there a phone or a Pepsi machine anywhere in sight? Of course not. No, crash a helicopter and the whole population of LA County just disappeared. Assuming we’re even _in_ LA County. No, we’re in LA County. Frigging county’s half the size of Oregon. We can’t have gotten out of it already. Unless we’re in Orange County. No,” he decided, unaware that he was arguing out loud with himself, “Orange County doesn’t have this many trees. And the roads aren’t as long. You can get places in OC, but in LA you just walk and walk, and the roads get longer and there aren’t any gas stations and the toaster strudel chokes the cats until the TV freezes.” He stopped talking long enough to gasp a few breaths, and then went on babbling things not even he understood.

The nearest gas station was more than a fried circuit board away, it turned out. Murray walked for two miles, the skin wearing off his hand, his wounded leg leaving a trail of blood that could have been followed from the air. By the time he got there, he’d decided that they couldn’t possibly be in LA County anymore. If they were, he’d have seen a car by now. LA County was littered with cars. There were three cars for every man, woman and child in the County, and not a single one had passed him on this nature walk to hell. Therefore he was not in LA. It was simple arithmetic and not a worthy challenge for a scientist of his caliber.

 _Exxon_. Praise God and all the saints, there was an _Exxon_ sign ahead. Murray tried to stagger faster, but his hand whimpered and his leg screamed, and together they outvoted his brain. He settled into a rhythmic shuffle that got him there in under an hour, he was pretty sure, but it could have been longer. By this time, he’d forgotten what he was even doing out here. _Find phone_ , was the thought he’d been holding, caressing at the forefront of his brain where it couldn’t escape. _Find phone_ Only that, and nothing more. And then, when he spotted the sign, the single thought changed to _Exxon_.

He kept that sign firmly in sight, forgetting even to watch for cars in his determination to reach it. And when he did, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. He stood on the hot tar of the parking lot for a few minutes, trying to remember. He didn’t have a car, or even a gas can, so he didn’t come for fuel. There was a Pepsi machine and that rang a bell. Murray thought he might have a use for that. Yeah, he could buy a Mountain Dew and think about why he was here. There was a shady spot by the payphone and he could lean against the wall and drink his soda. He wanted to lean on something, because his leg was cramping up a storm.

It was like that time he and Cody had been diving on a sunken boat, recovering parts for the owner, who didn’t want to pay to have it raised. Murray had gone because it was an endurance job, spending all day under water, and Nick didn’t have that much faith in the ocean or in the gear that would keep him alive. But Murray trusted machines, and he liked the intricate work of unscrewing deck cleats and brass fittings, pulling the heavy marine screws from every exposed surface and finally detaching the expensive rail that encircled the deck. It was in six sections and they were able to get four, swimming each section to the surface together and handing them up to Nick who waited on the fantail, surrounded by little bags of fittings and screws. It was while Murray was unfastening the last section of rail, his head and shoulders jammed into the mud under the hull, heels sliding and digging for purchase, that a tremendous cramp had seized his left leg from thigh to calf. He’d screamed at the sudden, shocking pain, spitting out his regulator and filling his mouth with salt water. He was reaching for his leg, his arm tangled in the rail that hung mostly detached over his head, and though he’d noticed that he couldn’t breathe, he had not yet begun to consider what to do about it. His gut said it didn’t matter, anyway. The pain in his leg would kill him before he drowned.

That was surely hyperbole, but he would have drowned if Cody hadn’t seen the sudden rush of bubbles and glided over to see what was wrong. He’d pulled Murray free, grabbed his shoulders and pinned him down in the swirling silt, doubled his hands over the skinny chest and pressed down hard. Another rush of bubbles erupted, along with a mouthful of water. Then Cody shoved the regulator back into Murray’s mouth and held it there, massaging his chest with the other hand until the bubbles evened out. They rested there for a moment, and then Cody signaled to ask him what was wrong. Murray pointed to his leg, no longer braced in the sand but floating now, bent sharply while the other floated limp and free.

Cody patted his chest lightly, reassuringly, and drifted back a little to catch hold of his leg. He didn’t try to straighten it, just ran his bare hands over the smooth wetsuit feeling for tears. All he found was hard bone and twitching muscle. Cramps. Cody stroked his thigh, letting him know he understood, and then strong fingers dug brutally into the spasming flesh. Murray screamed again, silent and heart-wrenching in the underwater darkness, but he held onto his regulator this time. Cody worked hard and fast, down his thigh and into his calf, digging and wrenching, inflicting terrible pain on his sweet friend because it was the right thing to do. But as soon as Murray’s knee straightened, Cody abandoned his cruel kindness and swam back to his head. He swept the dropped tools and screws into his bag, tied it to his belt, and wrapped his arm around Murray’s chest.

 _Slow_ , he signed and Murray nodded that he understood. They’d been down here for an hour and surfacing slowly was key. That was the only reason Cody had wasted time with the massage. If the pain was too terrible, Murray might fight him during the ascent and if he escaped, he could still hurt himself badly. Murray knew that, now that he was able to think a little bit, and he was grateful. It was a good thing, he realized, that he’d gotten caught in the rail. If that hadn’t happened, if Cody hadn’t stopped him from racing to the surface in a panic of agony, he’d have a lot bigger problems than a little cramp to worry about.

Cody led him to the boat in careful increments, counting fathoms and seconds, signing to Murray to ask if he was okay and always getting the same affirmative nod. Nick helped him climb the ladder, stripped off the heavy equipment he wore, gave him glass after glass of lemon flavored sports drink to rehydrate him and replace the lost potassium that was sending his muscles into relentless spasms. Because the cramps were ongoing, he had just been able to stand it better when Cody was there, counting fathoms and seconds, getting him to safety with the calm confidence that was always his in the water.

Like Nick was always confident in the air. They had agreed that day on the boat, while Murray drank lemon electrolytes and his friends took turns massaging his clenching muscles, that they would not tell Quinlan about this. Nothing had happened, really. He’d gotten a cramp and come up. It was almost time to change tanks, anyway. No big deal. But Ted would be upset. Maybe even forbid him, out of misplaced fear, to dive again. Like—like he didn’t want Murray flying with Nick. Quinlan didn’t understand that it was safe. That they always took care of him, and that Nick never—crashed. Nick never, ever crashed. Except, Murray thought, plugging nickels into the Pepsi machine at the least visited _Exxon_ station in what was quite possibly not LA County, that might not be true.

He got his Mountain Dew and went over to the shady spot by the payphone to drink it. His leg hurt, and that wasn’t from diving. It wasn’t exactly like that underwater cramp after all. In initial intensity, maybe, but he thought this had gone on too long. And he was walking. And Cody wasn’t here, because he was with Nick, who never crashed, except when he did. That felt familiar somehow, and as he drank the cold soda, the phone began to draw more and more of his attention. Eventually, he put down the empty can and lifted the receiver. Plugged in a dime and dialed O.

“Operator?” he said, his voice dusty and cracked in spite of the drink. He might have to get another when he was done with this. “I’m at a gas station. The number’s 555-5439. Can you get the address for—oh, good. What? Oh, yes. I think I’ve been in a helicopter crash. I’m alone, so my friends must still be there. It’s not very far, I don’t think I walked more than a day, although the cats choked on the strudel yesterday and the trees—the trees are—I don’t know. Icy. We need help. We need a lot of help. Cody’s broken and Nick won’t wake up and there’s something wrong with my leg. Yes, an ambulance would be very nice. Thank you very much.” Then his knees buckled and he dropped to the pavement, even as the proprietor of the service station ran out to see what was going on. He’d missed the arrival of this bloody and bedraggled figure, and guessed, as he knelt to lift Murray’s head, that he’d been in a car wreck.

The receiver was still squawking and he grabbed it, still holding Murray’s head to his chest.

“Hello?”

The operator asked him to confirm the location of the emergency and, looking around, he saw a plume of thin black smoke rising from the trees about a mile and a half away as the crow flew.

“He said a chopper went down? Yuh, I can believe that. Best get out here, then, ‘cause this fella’s bleeding like hell and if his friends are hurt worse, then they’re hurt bad. No, I don’t think I can do anything for him. Got a big piece of metal stuck in him. I don’t want to touch it. I can get him inside in the shade if that’ll help. Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

The operator didn’t want to take responsibility for telling him to move an injured man, so he knelt there and held Murray’s head on his knees, shading his face from the sun until the ambulance pulled in. Murray never opened his eyes, but the pump jockey pointed to the fading plume of smoke and the fire engines went on ahead to see what was there.

***

Ted Quinlan was wrapping up a long day of testifying in court when he got the message that there was an accident at home. The dispatcher didn’t give a lot of details, but he knew enough. A state cop who patrolled down that way gave him a ride back to King Harbor with lights and sirens so he wouldn’t have to count on his dash bubble to get him through traffic. He never even thought about how he might get his car home.

At the hospital, he went straight into recovery where Murray lay silent and still in his bed beside Nick. Cody was there between them, holding Nick’s hand and giving Murray an occasional glance, making sure that he rested peacefully.

“What happened?” he asked quietly, pulling up a chair on the other side of Murray’s bed.

“We got into it with some guys in another chopper,” Cody said, not raising his eyes from his lover’s face. “They shot us down. Murray went for help and I don’t—I don’t even know what happened then. Where he went or how bad he’s hurt or anything. I’m sorry, Ted. We’re supposed to look out for him and we—it just—I’m sorry.”

“Forget it. You’re all alive so no one fucked up too bad. We’ll do the post-game wrap-up some other time.”

Cody looked up at him then and smiled weakly. They sat in silence until Murray woke, roused by an instinctive knowledge of the nearness of the man he loved. His hand tightened on Quinlan’s and then his eyes opened, squinting and confused.

“There you are,” Ted whispered, leaning down to kiss him softly.

“Lieutenant? Did I make it?”

“Sure you made it. You’re talking to me, ain’t you?”

“Yes, but—I can’t remember. Did I get help? Are Nick and Cody okay?”

“They’re right here, baby. You did great.”

“You did,” Cody agreed, and Murray turned his head stiffly, realizing for the first time that his friends were there.

“Are you okay? Is that Nick? Lieutenant, I can’t see a thing.”

“Hang on, your glasses are right here.” He slipped them on and Murray relaxed immediately.

“That’s much better. Poor Nick. Is he all right? Has he woken up?”

“Not yet,” Cody said, lowering his eyes again. Murray turned to Quinlan, as if he could do anything for them, and then a doctor was there, asking Murray questions and checking his vital signs.

“The nurses are fixing up a room for you,” he said brightly. “Looks like you’ve had a couple units of blood, and we’ll be monitoring you for infection for a few days, but I’d say you came through pretty well. Do you have any questions?”

“No, not really. Can I stay here with my friends?”

“Sorry. We need this space for people a lot worse off than you.”

The nurse came in to get him and Murray tried again to protest, to explain that he was responsible, that he was in charge of getting help and Nick needed him. But Quinlan laid his hand on Murray’s cheek and slid his thumb lightly over the soft lips until they stopped moving.

“Don’t be a fool,” he said lovingly. “Nick’s fine. He has everything he needs. Let’s go take care of you, now.”

Murray cast one more doubtful glance back at his friends, but Cody was nodding and the nurse was unplugging his monitors, and before he could think of a rational argument, they were taking him away.

“Are you mad?” he asked sleepily once the nurses had settled him in and gone.

“Mad about what? You flying around in that big pink deathtrap with a kamikaze pilot? Not really.”

“Not kamikaze,” he murmured. “Just—fearless. We were trying to do the right thing.”

“I know you were. You did good, kid. Everything’s okay now. You saved their lives, you know. You don’t owe anybody an explanation.”

“So long as you’re not mad.”

“No, baby. No, I’m not mad. You—you’re the most important thing in the world to me. I ain’t gonna get mad at you five minutes after you wake up in the hospital.”

Murray smiled, and, still smiling, drifted off to sleep. Carefully, Quinlan slipped his glasses off and laid them on the bedside table, then picked up the slender hand again.

“You’re the only thing in the world that matters,” he whispered, brave in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be heard. “You’re my whole life, Murray, and every day you survive is a day where I got no complaints.”


End file.
